Little Liar
by whitetiger91
Summary: Fenrir is not a liar, no matter what the nurses and Doctor say. One day, he'll prove it to them. A short stand-alone sequel/ follow up to 'Saving the Wolf.'


**_This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round 6. _**

**_House/team: Gryffindor_**

**_Class subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts_**

**_Story category: Standard_**

**_Prompt: 6. [Character] Fenrir Greyback_**

**_Word count: 2497 words_**

**_Beta: White Eyebrow, secretfanficlover_**

**_Warning: Mild child abuse (similar to Harry's treatment at the Dursleys') and mentions of electroshock therapy (set in a 1950s psychiatric ward)._**

**_Extra: This story fits my headcanon that Fenrir was born to Muggle parents. The doctor is a relative of Damocles Belby, who created the proper Wolfsbane Potion in the 80s/ 90s (Doctor Belby passed on his knowledge, rather than his morals). _**

* * *

**Little Liar**

"Mummy! No, come back! _Mummy!_"

Fenrir pounded on the window, his watery eyes trained on his mother as she walked down the long stone footpath with the man in a white cloak. His voice was growing hoarse, but he didn't care.

"Please, come back! MUMMY!"

She didn't look back as the doctor led her out of the tall steel gates and ushered her into her car.

"_Mummy!_"

"That's quite enough. Come away."

The eight-year-old felt strong arms tugging at his waist. He writhed about, trying to claw every inch of the nurse's skin, determined not to lose sight of his mother even though the car had already pulled away.

"Ouch! You wicked child!"

He turned and glared at the nurse. She was cradling her arm, where several teeth marks were prominent against her pale skin. She grabbed his arm again and yanked him out of the room.

Fenrir stumbled as he tried to keep pace with her. Tears trickled down his face, causing his long brown hair to stick to his cheeks. The nurse led him down a cold, brightly-lit corridor, where they passed several doors with bars covering the small peepholes. A spine-tingling moan came from behind one door, but they didn't stop.

They continued through several more corridors before she eventually pushed open one of the doors. She dragged him over to a small cot inside and forced him down upon it. There was only a simple white fitted sheet on the mattress and a scratchy grey blanket on top. There was no pillow, but when he punched it, he found that the white wall was made of some sort of foam.

"We'll soon sort you out, boy. You're a liar, and liars aren't tolerated here."

Fenrir growled. "I'm _not_ a liar."

"I've read your file. You think you're a werewolf, but let me tell you something: werewolves don't exist."

"But I can turn into a wolf—"

She wagged a fat finger at him. "Quiet! Little boys shouldn't tell lies."

"Indeed, they shouldn't."

Fenrir twisted around. Leaning against the door was the man who'd made his mother leave. His silver hair shone in the harsh bedroom light as his piercing blue eyes surveyed him.

He launched at him. "Where's Mum—"

Before he could lay a fist on him, however, the man pushed his chest, sending him wheeling back. The nurse gripped his wrists and forced him back onto the bed.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Belby. Your mother is on her way home, leaving you here so we can cure you. Do you know what lycanthropy is, Fenrir?"

He glared at him, wishing he had the power to kill him by his sight alone.

Doctor Belby smiled. "It's when a person believes themselves capable of turning into a wolf—"

"I've done it before! A man bit me, and it hurt, but then one night I turned into a werewolf, and—"

"Stop lying, child!" the nurse said, but Doctor Belby held up a hand.

"Yes, your mother told me how you'd destroyed your room before running away to the forest behind your house. She was quite distraught. I take it this is the man who bit you?" The doctor held up the picture Fenrir had been drawing before his mother had left.

It showed the hairy, yellow-eyed man he'd met in the forest whilst camping with his father—the man who'd said he was injured and needed help before he'd suddenly pounced.

"That's him. Now, can I go home?"

"I see…" The doctor bent down, locking his gaze onto him. "You'll be able to go home when you're all better."

"But I'm not lying!"

The doctor sighed, before standing and leaving the room. The nurse followed and locked the door behind them; she was too fast for Fenrir as he leapt towards them.

He pounded on the door. "No! I want my mum!"

Pain radiated through his knuckles, and he stumbled back onto the bed. Bringing his knees to his heaving chest, he began rocking.

"I'm not lying," he whispered.

* * *

Fenrir bared his teeth as the nurse ripped up his drawing. He'd spent all morning trying to get the tail just right, hoping to show them exactly what he looked like when he'd transformed. It wasn't the first that'd been destroyed, however, and he scowled as the nurse put a fresh piece of paper in front of him.

"Try again. Draw yourself."

"But I _am _a wolf."

The tight-bunned woman bent down and whispered, "You're a liar; that's what you are."

Fenrir gripped the crayon so hard that it snapped within his hand. He glared at the blonde's retreating back, wanting to rip her blue dress to shreds.

"I think it's time to head back to your room. Tonight's a full moon."

He jumped at the sound of Doctor Belby's voice. He wasn't aware that a month had already passed, but it didn't matter; the full moon was a chance to prove that he wasn't a liar.

Throwing the crayon pieces on the table, he followed the doctor back to his room. He was surprised to see that his cot had been removed.

Doctor Belby seemed to read his mind. "If you're a werewolf like you say you are, you won't need a bed, will you?"

Scowling, Fenrir sat on the padded floor. The doctor chuckled and shut the door.

Despite the bed's absence, the room felt a lot smaller. In fact, as his skin began to prickle and itch, it seemed like the walls were closing in. He tried standing, wanting to push them back, but his pounding head sent him reeling back to the floor.

It was happening again, just like it had before he'd been sent away.

He closed his eyes against the sudden onslaught of pain. It felt like his muscles were on fire, like poison was pumping through his rapidly beating heart. When he opened his eyes, he saw that thick, grey fur was sprouting across his legs and arms—at least, he thought it was grey. As he watched his fingers contract into paws, he realised that something was off; he could see every colour of the rainbow and yet, at the same time, nothing but grey.

"Go have dinner. It's best not to give him the attention he craves."

His ears pricked up at the sound of the doctor's voice. It was sharper, yet also muffled, like he wasn't speaking English.

He tried pushing himself back up, but more pain shot through him, and a howl ripped from his throat.

* * *

"See? I told you I'm not lying!" Fenrir grinned up at the doctor.

Doctor Belby scribbled away on his clipboard, occasionally looking up at the large tears Fenrir had made in the walls and floor. "You destroyed the room."

He puffed out his chest. "I used my claws."

The doctor stopped writing. "Show me your hands."

Tilting his head, Fenrir complied. The doctor took his hands, examining the tiny pieces of foam caught beneath his nails.

He pressed on his left forefinger. "This ripped nail probably just snagged one of the threads."

"What—no, I—"

"Fenrir, do you remember what we're hoping to achieve here?" he asked, dropping his hands.

His heart thumped. Why was he looking at him like that? He'd seen him transform…

"You're going to cure me."

"Yes. In order to do that, you need to stop telling people you're a werewolf. It's nothing to be proud of," he said.

The doctor clicked his fingers and the door swung open. In came the blonde nurse holding a silver box. A long plug trailed from it, and when she flicked a switch, it began to hum, causing his arm hairs to stand on edge.

"This is called an Electroconvulsive Therapy Machine." Doctor Belby held up what looked like a helmet. "When adults believe they're something they're not, we strap them into a chair and place this on them. An electric shock travels through their brain, correcting their thoughts.

"You're too young for this. However, if you don't accept your fate soon, you may very well need it."

Fenrir gulped, but when he saw the doctor smirking, he straightened his shoulders. "I'm not lying."

"Very well." The doctor sighed, but didn't seem surprised that Fenrir wasn't scared. He followed the nurse out of the room and slammed the door.

Fenrir kicked the iron bedpost. He wasn't scared of some stupid machine... not really.

* * *

Fenrir's ears pricked up at the sound of the door unlocking. His stomach growled, but it was nothing compared to the familiar pain shooting through his veins, their dark blue hue prominent against his pale skin. He wished the nurses would relent and finally give him some meat for supper, but there was no way he'd admit that he wasn't a werewolf—he'd much rather be electro-shocked than do that.

And yet…

He couldn't help but wonder if they were right. He was sure that his nails grew sharp and long each full moon, but now, they looked nothing like claws; like his hair, the nurses had clipped them right back. Although his skin prickled with the promise of growing fur, he knew it was just as likely that it was something the nurses called 'premature hormones.'

"I have something for you," a smooth voice said.

Fenrir snarled at the doctor, wanting nothing more than to snap his clipboard in half. He noticed that he wasn't holding a straight-jacket in his other hand, though. His muscles tightened as he remembered the way he'd thrashed around the last time, trying to free his paws from its constraints.

Instead, the man held up a small glass bottle, inside of which was a strange, silver liquid. Fenrir narrowed his eyes, not trusting him, and concentrated on trying to keep his breathing even.

"I can see the curiosity in your eyes, Fenrir. This," Doctor Belby shook the bottle, and blue smoke furled on the surface, "is a special medicine for you. I've been test—using it on my other, adult patients. It'll make tonight easier and keep you calm; you deserve a break."

"Why?"

"Well, you haven't bitten anyone lately, have you?" he said, smiling.

Fenrir didn't trust the glint in his eyes, but his throat began to burn. "Will it take away the pain?"

Doctor Belby winked. "Only if you're telling the truth that you're a wolf; it won't work on humans."

He placed the bottle on the ground and strolled from the room. Fenrir waited until he heard the lock click before crawling over to the bottle. His breaths were now coming out as gasps, and although he still didn't trust the doctor, he'd do anything to feel better.

He downed the mixture in one gulp, almost spitting it back out because of the foul taste. The pounding in his head grew, his body tightened, the flickering light above him became almost blinding, and he felt… normal?

Blinking, he realised that the colours weren't bouncing from rainbow to grey on the white walls. He was no longer in agony, and he found he could understand the voice outside.

"Better, isn't it?" Doctor Belby whispered.

* * *

"I told you to draw a picture of yourself in your happy place," the nurse said, tapping his drawing.

Fenrir rolled his dark eyes and scratched his arm; it was beginning to grow itchy in anticipation of the night's transformation. "It is. That's me running, and that's a tree in the forest…"

The nurse picked up the paper and ripped it in half, straight down the centre of the wolf's body. "You're a rotten little liar," she said.

She almost looked relieved when Doctor Belby walked inside, allowing her to leave.

Fenrir's eyes honed in on his hands, which only held the clipboard. "Where's the medicine?"

Doctor Belby ran a hand through his silver hair. "I haven't brought it tonight."

He sat up straighter. "Why? I haven't bitten anyone lately—"

"I've already seen what it can do."

He winced as a stabbing sensation hit his heart. It was starting…

"Where is it?"

"It was a privilege using it; something you had to earn. Besides, I'm afraid I don't have enough this month." Doctor Belby's face held anything but regret.

Fenrir bit his lip, wincing as he felt a sharp tooth dig in. He couldn't go back to the pain.

"Please… I'll be good. I'll—" A thousand needles started to jab his muscles, his bones squeezing as they changed. "I admit it… I'm not a werewolf. I can't change, okay? Please…"

He dug his nails into the floor, clenching his teeth as wave after wave of pain washed over him. Through watery eyes, he looked up to see the doctor smiling.

"I'm not a wolf!" Looking around, he picked up one half of his drawing and began to rip it to shreds. "See? I lied! Please, the medi—"

He whimpered as his spine gave a sharp pinch and his tail began to grow.

Doctor Belby knelt in front of him. "Oh, I know you're a werewolf. I've known all along."

"Please! I'm not, I—pardon?" Fenrir looked up at him.

Doctor Belby's smile widened. "From the moment your mother told me about your curious behaviour, I knew it was more than some Muggle confusion. The first giveaway, of course, were the scars covering your torso." He lifted his shirt, revealing the silver lines where the hairy man had bitten him. "I knew I had to study you further, and of course, found that you exhibited the same symptoms as my adult patients. It's curious that, like they, you panicked over the prospect of missing the potion rather than having your brain fried with electroshock therapy.

"It makes sense, though; the potion seems to work more than the latter. I just wish I'd known earlier."

Fenrir gulped. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he tried focusing on the doctor, glad that he wasn't imagining everything after all.

He snarled as the man stroked the grey fur beginning to grow on his arm. "I intend to cure you, though—if possible. I work at a place called the Ministry of Magic, you see, and it's my job to rid the Muggle world of vermin such as yourself, one way or another.

"In order to do this, I need to see you in your natural state again, so I'm afraid I shall have to leave you now." He ruffled Fenrir's hair—or rather, fur.

Trying to swipe him, Fenrir fell to the floor, panting. He tried to stand up, to tell the man that _he_ was the one who was a monster, but an agonised moan came out instead.

"Don't worry, my little liar. I'll be back in the morning," Doctor Belby said, slamming the door.

The room began to spin, and he gnashed his teeth. As he closed his eyes, more pain searing through his body as the final changes came, only one thought crossed his mind: he was a werewolf, and when he got his chance, he'd make sure everyone knew it.


End file.
